Spring 1964

Gabor Peterdi's "Spring," is rendered in delicate lines, like a memory struggling to take shape. I imagine Peterdi hunched over the plate, lost in concentration, coaxing forth this riot of branches and leaves. Each line feels like a question, a tentative exploration of form and texture. Look closely. There's a real sense of the artist’s hand, isn't there? The lines are not just descriptive; they’re expressive. They communicate the energy and vitality of spring, the way new growth pushes against the old. I can almost feel the scratch of the needle, the resistance of the plate, the quiet intimacy of the studio. I wonder, what was he thinking as he made this? Was he thinking of other artists, of nature, of time? Peterdi, like many artists, is in dialogue with a long history of mark-making, but he’s also forging his own path, isn't he? Painting, printing – all forms of embodied expression are like that. They embrace ambiguity and uncertainty, allowing for multiple interpretations and meanings.